The Night of a Weasley
by Spiralling-Down
Summary: At one point or another, every one of the Weasley siblings has been woken up in the middle of the night by Fred and George. These are their stories. Set before Fred and George start Hogwarts. There will be a chapter each for Bill, Charlie, Percy, Ron and Ginny.
1. Bill

**Disclaimer: I will own Harry Potter when the Chudley Canons finish top of the league. :P**

**Author's Note: This story will have one chapter for each of Fred and George's siblings (not including each other) and all of them will be set before Fred and George started Hogwarts. I'm not sure yet if it will be in chronological order or just random, sorry… Also, I haven't planned chapters for Molly or Arthur, but I'm happy to give something a go if anyone wants. Oh, and if you have a moment to spare, I'd really love a review! Tips, comments, constructive criticism... Anything is welcome. :D  
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* * *

Darkness had fallen over the Burrow, and the house lay quiet and still, lit only by the moon overhead. The only sound to be heard in the various rooms was the gentle breathing of sleeping figures. That is, in every room but one. Fred and George, the four year old twins, were not in fact asleep as their parents assumed. Instead, they were holding a fevered conversation in low voices, sitting huddled together under the quilt on George's bed, which they had fashioned into a makeshift tent.

"It's _not _real," Fred was saying. "It can't be, we'd have noticed it."

George didn't look convinced. "But what if it's just really quiet?"

"Maybe we should just look."

"Maybe."

"All right."

"OK."

Despite this agreement, neither of them made a move to look over the side of the bed. Fred and George just stayed firmly in the middle of the mattress, careful not to let their toes dangle off the edge. As everyone knows, that is the safest position to be in when you're in a bedroom at night; it keeps your ankles well out of the way of the jaws of some unseen monster, which might be looking for a taste of human flesh.

After a couple more minutes of silence, George began to nod off to sleep on Fred's shoulder. Fred gave him a sharp jab in the ribs.

"Charlie says it only bites when you're asleep," he hissed.

George blinked sleepily. "Thought you said you didn't believe in it anyway."

There was another pause, as Fred's brain whirred, trying to come up with a response that would leave his reputation of bravery unscathed.

"Bill will know," he whispered eventually.

George nodded, and they threw the sheets off. Plucking up all their courage, they leaped off the bed together, landing half way across the room, and ran for the door, scrambling over each other to get out of the danger zone (otherwise known as their room).

* * *

Bill meanwhile was happily asleep in his bed, completely unaware of the drama taking place across the corridor. He was home from Hogwarts for the Christmas holidays of his second year, and he was rather enjoying the chance to have a good night's sleep undisturbed by the snoring of his dorm-mates. However, the fates seemed to be against him as he was woken from his slumber by two weights landing heavily on his chest.

"Oof," grunted Bill, his eyes snapping open immediately.

He jerked backwards in shock as he was met by a pair of identical, freckled faces hovering just a couple of inches above his own.

_Perhaps you can go back to sleep with them on top of you_, his sleep fuddled brain told him hopefully. Bill closed his eyes again, sinking quickly back into sleep, when-

"Bill," one of the twins said urgently.

"Wake up," added the other, poking him.

Bill lay still, showing no signs of life. The twins' patience ran out after only a few seconds, and he received another couple of pokes. A small hand tapped him on the cheek several times.

"What do you want?" he groaned eventually, lifting his head up.

"There's a dragon in our room," one of them (he thought it was Fred) informed him.

"What made you think that?" Bill asked.

He raised himself up onto one elbow, pulling the twins off him so they were sitting on the edge of the bed. Fred and George looked at each other quickly before launching into the story.

"Charlie was telling us about dragons-"

"And he said some of them liked the dark-"

"And our room's dark-"

"And he said one might be under a bed-"

"And it might eat us when we fall asleep!"

"Or burn us alive!"

"Or burn us dead!"

Bill almost laughed, but he stopped himself when he saw that his little brothers looked like they were on the verge of tears. Bill sat up and gave them each a one-armed hug. He well remembered his own distress when he'd been a similar age and had thought there was an angry Hippogriff in his closet. He'd gone tearing into his parents' room in the middle of the night and burst into tears, eventually falling asleep in their room instead of his own. He gave a wry smile at the memory and turned back to the twins.

"There's no dragon," he told told them, patting one of them on the shoulder. "Charlie's just winding you up."

Fred and George exchanged another skeptical look.

"How can you _know_?" Fred pointed out.

"There could be a dragon there. You haven't checked," said George in an accusatory voice.

Bill sighed. "Fine. I'll come and look. And then you're going back to sleep."

"Thank you, Bill," they chorused.

Bill dragged himself out of his bed and padded across the hallway to the twins' room, making a mental note to give Charlie a punch in the face the next morning. And possibly smuggle a gnome into his room, just to ruin his night as well. Bill quickly shook off these thoughts and entered the bedroom, followed by Fred and George, who hung back near the doorway, watching him cross over to Fred's bed. Bill bent down on his knees and ran a hand underneath the bed, carefully feeling around the very edges to put Fred and George's minds at rest. He then did the same to George's bed on the other side of the room. He felt rather proud of himself for resisting the urge to shriek and pretend to have been bitten by something.

"Nothing there," he told his brothers finally, standing up and dusting himself down.

At last, Fred and George seemed satisfied, and they each got into their own beds. Bill made to leave the room, hoping he could catch another few hours of sleep before he had to get up again in the morning. But as he opened the door-

"Bill?" came a quiet voice. It was George.

"What now?" said Bill wearily.

"Can you stay here for a bit?" Fred asked.

"There's no bloody dragon."

"Language, Bill," scolded Fred, sounding very much like his mother.

"Can you just stay anyway?" said George. "In case it comes back."

"Yeah, 'cause it's dark and they like the dark."

_There goes my night of sleep. Forget gnomes, I'm going to murder Charlie._

Bill sat down heavily on the floor between the two beds, scowling to himself. Fred and George looked instantly happier and settled down, with Bill on dragon watch. Their breaths gradually grew deeper and evened out as they drifted off into sleep. By this point, Bill had decided the floor was comfortable enough to use as a bed, and he didn't have the energy to get up and go right the way back to his own room. He lay his head down on the carpet and, within seconds, had begun to snore softly along with his little brothers.


	2. Charlie

**Disclaimer: Yet again, the Chudley Canons came bottom of the league. I am still not the owner of Harry Potter. (If you have no idea what I'm talking about, check last chapter's disclaimer!)**

**Author's Note: Charlie now! Hope you enjoy the chapter! It would be great if you could review, so if you have anything to say… you know where the button is. :P Thank you very much to Shannon, violetrose and ****RandomSarcasm1102,** **who reviewed last chapter! You're all absolutely wonderful.**

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"Shh, or you'll wake everyone up!"

"That stair creaks, make sure you jump it."

"Just don't let Mummy find us, or she'll go mental…"

"Was that someone upstairs?"

"I don't think so. Now be quiet!"

Fred and George were currently sneaking downstairs, trying to get outside without anyone noticing them. They'd managed to reach the front door, and so far, everything seemed to be going well. Fred eased the door slowly open, tensing at each scrape or creak that escaped its hinges. However, the rest of the Weasleys didn't seem to have heard anything, and Fred got the door open without event. He and George crept out as silently as they could and shut it carefully behind them. They paused for a second, staring up at the still house, and then they grinned at each other and tore off across the garden towards to the broom shed without another word, the damp grass sticking to the soles of their bare feet.

When they reached the little shed, George pulled a hairpin from his pocket and began twiddling it the lock. Eventually, after a lot of poking and wiggling, the lock sprang open. Fred and George exchanged a satisfied smile; their months of practice had obviously paid off. They reached into the cupboard and grabbed a broom each. Fred took Bill's Cleansweep 4; George, Charlie's Comet 180. The two of them set off up the hill, lugging the brooms behind them and keeping up a flow of chatter.

"We're not toddlers or something," said George earnestly, "We deserve to try flying properly."

"Exactly! Those baby brooms are _boring_."

Fred rolled his eyes. At the ripe old age of six, he couldn't believe that anyone would doubt his maturity! The conversation lasted them right the way to the top of the hill, where Fred swung a leg over the broom. He clamboured onto it laboriously, despite the fact that it was more than a little big for him. Once he was sitting comfortably, he looked to the side and saw that George was also hovering a couple of inches off the ground next to him.

"Ready?"

"Whenever you are."

Fred and George kicked off the ground and began to rise upwards. Fred leaned down slightly on the broom handle and began to move forwards, quickly gaining speed. He whooped in excitement, feeling the cool air of the July night whistle past his ears and sweep back his hair. He and George gradually grew more confident, rising higher and higher until they were soaring over the treetops. They imitated a few Quaffle throws to each other, and began to laugh at an owl sitting on a branch below them, which flew off, hooting.

"This is great!" called George.

"Why didn't we do this earlier?"

"I wish Bill and Charlie could see us now!"

Beginning to feel rather reckless, they decided that perhaps Bill and Charlie _could _see them. They began to fly bravely towards the Burrow, though they made sure to steer clear of the window of their parents' room.

* * *

Through his sleep, Charlie became gradually aware of a tapping, scrabbling noise. He wrenched his eyelids apart by a fraction of an inch and groaned.

"I'm getting up, Mum, OK?"

The scratching noise continued. Charlie pulled himself upright, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and looked around. Suddenly, with such a surprise that he wondered if he was still dreaming, he realised that the noise was coming from outside the window, where two identical silhouettes were visible. Charlie stumbled out of bed and towards the window, where he came face to face with…

"Fred? George?" Charlie rubbed his eyes more vigorously. "What the hell are you two doing here? Is that my broom?"

Fred and George looked very pleased with themselves, and gestured for Charlie to open the window. He did what they told him and the twins leaned closer.

"You and Bill can both fly," began Fred.

"So we decided we wanted to learn as well."

"So we nicked your brooms-"

"And here we are!" finished George smugly.

Charlie was not a morning person by any definition, and he was definitely not a _two_-in-the-morning person. The result of this was that it took some time for all this information to filter through from his ears to his brain. For some reason, the first thing to register was-

"You woke me up in the middle of the night because you want flying lessons?" said Charlie incredulously.

Fred and George glanced at each other, grinning like Cheshire Cats.

"Well, if you're offering…"

"Then yes, that would be great."

"Race you to the top of the hill!"

At that, Fred and George both turned and sped away, leaving Charlie standing open-mouthed by the window. He leaned out, watching the figures of his brothers get smaller as they zoomed away from him. They were going awfully fast for a couple of six-year-olds who'd only flown toy broomsticks before.

_If they fall off and die, Mum will _actually_ murder me._

Charlie hurried down the stairs, jumping the last few and pulling on his dressing gown as he went. He sprinted across the grass to the hill, where he saw to his relief that Fred and George had landed safely and were now talking to each other, pink-cheeked and slightly out of breath. Now that Charlie knew they were still alive, his passion for Quidditch began to kick in in force, and the idea of teaching Fred and George how to fly started to seem quite appealing.

"Are you going to tell on us?" asked Fred.

Charlie rolled his eyes. "Why would I go and do that? I'd get in as much trouble as you. Just don't kill yourselves!"

"Thanks, Char!"

Charlie beamed and stepped forwards to scrutinise Fred and George's technique.

"George, you need to adjust your grip, like this," Charlie said, moving George's hands into the correct position. "And Fred, you're sitting slightly sideways at the moment, make sure you face straight on."

The lesson continued for a couple of hours, until Fred fell off his broom and scraped up his knees. He didn't seem particularly bothered, but Charlie decided he'd probably been pushing his luck slightly, and this would be a good point to wrap up the night. He also noticed that the sky was beginning to lighten, and he realised they'd better get inside and in bed as quickly as they could before someone noticed their absence.

Charlie picked up Fred, who appeared to have had no sleep at all that night and was looking very tired. Fred's head drooped instantly onto his shoulder, and Charlie set off towards the Burrow, Fred still in his arms and George trotting along at his side.

Soon, the twins were deposited back in their room, and Charlie climbed back into bed to wait out the last few hours before he had to get up, relieved that they hadn't been caught. At least, that was what he thought, until an irate Molly burst into his room in the morning, demanding to know why there were two broomsticks lying on the grass outside and the twins had twigs stuck in their hair and mud on their pyjamas.

However, despite the thorough telling-off Charlie had to endure, even years later he would claim that his abilities as one of Gryffindor's finest Quidditch Captains had stemmed from that one night, teaching his younger brothers to fly. Fred and George of course would deny that Charlie had played any part in it and always insisted that they were simply naturally talented. But Charlie knew better.


End file.
